


Burnt Out

by GunpowderFlaw



Category: Narcos: Mexico (TV)
Genre: Don’t read unless you want serious fics, M/M, Masturbation, S2E10, So maybe not too serious, too much psychoanalysis on character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23051623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GunpowderFlaw/pseuds/GunpowderFlaw
Summary: Last days before Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo’s arrest.
Relationships: Amado Carrillo Fuentes/Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	Burnt Out

**Author's Note:**

> I’d like to thank Dnjungle for beta-ing and also pushing me to finish this fic (within one year, hell), you have the best way of tricking me to do things, thanks D!

He looked at him. 

Between them, the round wooden table caught a warm, dim light that was cast down from around and above them, creating a sharp edge of that polished surface - a curved line cutting out the circled shape from utter darkness so that it could be perceived by human eyes, just as Amado’s intense stare piercing through his sockets that brimmed with shadows. Only this time, there were no sunglasses to alleviate the weight of that stare. He felt bare. A newborn wriggling uncomfortably under the scrutiny of doctors, his inability of retrieving the security of his mother’s womb blatant.

Emotions spilt out with his dissipating control, it was more a punch in the gut losing control than being abandoned by his associates. What he was facing was a kind of unspeakable failure, the one he feared the most - no remembrance, no followers. An exiled king, alive, but stripped of any string of power. He knew Amado saw the desperation in his eyes, and realized, at the moment he stared back into those dark eyes, he had revealed too much of himself to his former pilot long before then.

He wanted to ask, when, when did you decide I was no longer useful, that I was no longer needed. Betrayal was among the first couple of thoughts that came to him, but he chose to settle on something more neutral, like disappointment. 

Once again, he looked at the person across the table. What a name, he thought, dark as a fucking crow. It was so easy to overlook what’s underneath that shell of calming charm Amado built himself. And it was so simple to let that shell of flesh encompass him during the night, penetrate him when he needed a catharsis. Until it was too late. Relying on someone you couldn’t find reasons to trust completely was always the first misstep. Yet for multiple times, he found himself unable to cut loose the person that he could turn his back on and not afraid of an incoming knife. 

The light started to become dizzying, he felt nauseated, like some nameless junkie who just gave themselves a particularly bad shot, undercooked, or mixed in with too much impurities. He held onto the table with both of his hands, the cool surface providing him with a somewhat makeshift integrity. At least he could control his body, how bad could it go? He had no fear for dying if that was under his own will. 

Flame brushed over the tip of a cigarette, Felix was not sure if Amado could hear the crackling sound resulting from the combustion of dried tobacco leaves. The room was too quiet, too still, he could almost feel the perturbation of the other man’s breathes.

He held the cigarette between his fingers, then inhaled. There wasn’t any reason behind this habit, yet again, nobody could tell how they form any kind of habit at all.

The presence across table was still weighing him down with that tangible stare, which he used to find comfort in, he looked up with determination and a sense of fervor he didn’t know he was capable of, then asked that long ruminated question.

The way Amado spoke was always absent of rush or uncertainty. A pool of clean, quiet water, he thought. He knew he wouldn’t like the answer, in fact, he hated it, but now the only thing he still got to lose was his dignity, so he held onto it like a drowning man.

Nicotine helped him calm down.

Then there was the sound of a deep breath. He couldn’t tell if that was coming from him. 

You are nothing without me. He heard himself say.

I haven’t forgotten. The crow spoke.

It shouldn’t be that easy, but he believed him. It was not even about deciding to believe, it was a kind of trust that came naturally, a grace that resided in Amado’s very being. Felix hated himself for it. But what did it matter? He was irrevocably screwed.

*

Truth was, he didn’t remember much about that last meeting, later he found himself in a state of loss where blurred images without details showed up in his head. He couldn’t sleep, dreadful thoughts induced insomnia, and in the sporadic time periods he actually slept, he dreamed of that meeting. 

Another sleepless night, Felix went downstairs to sit by his dining table. The night was gentle and smooth, blanketing his empty mansion. The texture of the darkness reminded him of someone that used to fly his planes, deft fingers played him like an organ, nimble and light, but at the same time left him in control, assuring him his preponderance.

Light breeze flirted with his sleep-mussed hair as he reached down, hand moving slowly against skin, until he took hold of his hardened cock. Naturally, he thought of Amado, who must be on his way up the ranks as he stroked himself, once, twice, did he still wear clothes like a fucking crow? Would he ever turn his heavy stare onto another person? And, had he found an alternative, if he’s not fucking Felix?

He came with lingering thoughts on Amado’s soft, quiet moans.

Then he went back to bed, lay there, wide awake until dawn. 

*

He dreamed again. This time he was moving along a highway, toward a bright, horizontal line in the distant sky. Above his head were some dome-like clouds, almost pitch black without the illumination of that thin, yet endless line of light. There was no plantation on either side of the road, nor in the distance. Instead, sand and gravel cover the yellowing grass. Behind him was a space of dead silence drenched in dread and trepidation that drove him forward, he didn’t know what’s in there, nor did he dare to take a look, like Lot who ran with determination and fear, the smell of burnt salt lingering in his nostrils.

As he moved closer to that brightness, he noticed there’s something unusual with the light, it had the quality of some kind of denser liquid, waving and flowing and moving, until he was close enough, too close he could feel the searing heat prickling on his skin, blinding light that could only be generated by something the scale of an atomic bomb. He was running towards it, knowing it was too late to turn around, and even if he could manage to go backwards, he didn’t have the courage to probe that unfathomable thickness of that shapeless darkness. There was a sour taste at the back of his throat, the vacillation between going forward into that fatal light or retreating back and facing the fearful, ineffable unknown gripped him - either a certain, quick death, or an unknown abyss that may have monsters at the bottom of it.

He started, and woke up. Sweat dribbled down his exposed back, and there were small, round marks on his sheets. He reclined back again, arms stretching to feel both sides of the bed. Birds’ song rang faintly in the distance, a clock ticked, his breathes began to slow.

Later he got up and went downstairs to sit by the table, asked the maid to get him some alcohol, and lit up a cigarette. 

The police came by dawn.


End file.
